The Dhampir and the Crow: BlackWinged Angels
by lucidscreamer
Summary: In the distant future, Hannah Foster struggles to save a group of children taken by vampires. Her only hope is a Vampire Hunter known as D. No romance! Alternating D, Hannah POVs; gen fic HIATUS
1. Hannah Foster

Black-Winged Angels

A crossover between _The Crow: Stairway to Heaven_ and _Vampire Hunter D_

© 2002 Lucidscreamer (aka Cyberkat)

**Disclaimer:** Vampire Hunter D belongs to Urban Vision, Streamline Pictures, Hideyuki Kikuchi; The Crow: Stairway to Heaven (and Hannah Foster) belongs to James O'Barr, Pressman, etc. For entertainment purposes only. No monetary compensation is being made from this story, and no infringement of any kind is intended nor should be implied.

**Warnings:** Rated R for violence and dark themes; some 'adult' language.

**Author's Note:** There are no "pairings" in this story, nor romance. It is action/horror with a touch of cyberpunk-Western/gothic sci-fi for good measure. I have attempted to recreate the 'feel' of D's strange future world, as well as to remain true to the characters (as portrayed in the two VHD movies and on TC:StH). I hope you will enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Black-Winged Angels

(1)

_And I may return if dissatisfied with what I learn from having died._

Robert Frost

She had been walking for days, or maybe it was weeks now. Time was no longer a priority in Hannah Foster's life, and hadn't been for centuries. One day bled into the next with a stultifying sameness that would have sucked the will to live right out of her...if she'd had any will to live left. And if she were alive.

She hadn't been truly alive for more years, hell, more millennia, than she cared to think about... or to remember.

The ground was hard and dry beneath her feet, and with each measured step, her heavy black boots kicked up a small cloud of dust. Along the roadside, the weeds were yellowing, wilting in the late summer heat. The arid, stultifying odor of parched earth and dying vegetation filled her nostrils when she took an unnecessary breath. Even the wind was silent; only the occasional distant bird call or faint insect rattle stirred the oppressive stillness. The air was thick with heat and tasted brittle, like the sun-baked grass and earth.

Despite the sweltering temperatures, Hannah walked easily, her fair skin oddly unstained by perspiration. Her short black hair and worn, utilitarian clothes spoke of an individual more concerned with ease of care than fashion, and her boots were hard-wearing and comfortable. A good thing, since she had used them a great deal since the loss of her last means of transportation. She still hadn't forgiven the werewolf for slashing open her horse's belly and spilling its biomechanical innards all over the ground.

Of course, the werewolf hadn't been too happy when she had promptly returned the favor.

But, as momentarily satisfying as her retaliation had been, it still left her on foot. She scuffed one boot in the dust and wondered idly how far it was to the next town. Out here on the frontier, human settlements were few and far between. Not many survived the harsh landscape and strange, mutant creatures-some the product of twisted nature, others the warped output of long-abandoned laboratories. Still, there was the road which, though sparsely traveled, wasn't entirely overgrown with grass and weeds. That meant people somewhere in the vicinity, perhaps a village or a small town. Maybe she could purchase a new mount there.

As if conjured by the almost wistful thought, the muted thunder of horse's hooves sounded behind her. Turning, she saw a lone rider on a cyborg horse approaching at a gallop. The rider was dressed all in black, his face mostly obscured by the wide brim of his traveler's hat and the high collar of his cloak. The wind of his passage swept his cloak behind him like a pair of great, dark wings. He carried a long sword on his back, the hilt just visible over one shoulder.

_Hunter_, she thought, seeing the sword, seeing the black armor beneath the billowing folds of the cape. _And in a hurry._

He rode past her without stopping, for which she was grateful. She was tired of fighting, tired of men who saw a solitary woman and had only one thought. Tired of the imperative of kill or be...well, not _killed_. Not exactly.

Even after all this time, she still hadn't come up with the proper word for this state of existence, this damned limbo in which she dwelled, neither fully alive nor completely dead. This perpetual hell on Earth.

She laughed softly, amused by her own melodramatic musings. _Drama Queen of the Damned_. She shoved her spiky bangs back from her eyes and watched the rider disappear into the distance, a swirl of dust hanging in his wake like a disturbed wraith. Hell, maybe she should've asked him for a lift. Fending off a few unwelcome advances might have been preferable to however many more miles of her own foolish reveries. Not that he'd given her the opportunity to ask.

A shadow fell over her, racing along the parched road ahead of her, then wheeling back. With a sense of foreboding, she stopped and held out her arm. A few seconds later, the huge bird landed on her forearm, its talons digging into her flesh with painful familiarity, and regarded her with intelligent black eyes.

In its wicked beak, the crow held a child's silver rattle.

Hannah sighed, resignation and fresh anger welling up in her as she reached for the crow's tainted offering. As soon as her fingers touched the toy, the child's fear flooded her mind. Her hand clenched around the rattle, tight enough for the seams in the metal to bite into her palm, as the images assaulted her.

_A broken window, a darkened room._

_A sleeping babe._

_Hands as white as moonlight reaching into the child's crib and lifting the baby, who cries, frightened at being handled so roughly by a stranger. The silver rattle, falling unheeded to the floor. Fog swirling at the open window. The sparkle of ruby eyes shining in the starlight. A woman and... blood._

_Lots of blood._

_The empty crib and a mother's anguished screams..._

"Damn." Her own heart clenching with remembered anguish, Hannah broke from the vision and carefully tucked the baby's rattle into her pocket. A black tear glinted in the corner of her eye, but her expression held only resolve as she met the patient gaze of the crow. "Show me."

The bird took wing, gliding swiftly along the road in the direction the lone rider had taken. Hannah followed at a run, her boots pounding on the hard-packed earth, the heat and her futile thoughts forgotten. There was only one thing on her mind now.

She had a job to do.


	2. D

(2)

_"To do a certain kind of thing, you have to be a certain kind of person."  
_Anon.

"Have I mentioned how much I hate this idea?" The voice was gravelly and sarcastic, and seemed to issue out of nowhere. The words hung in the air for a moment, before the voice continued its harangue. "Because I do. Hate it, that is. It's got to be at least a hundred degrees out here... Do the words 'heat syndrome' mean anything to you, or is your brain already fried beyond repair?"

The pale rider ignored it.

"Are you even listening to me?" the voice complained, its tone hovering somewhere between plaintive and pissed off. "Look, I know we've had this conversation before, but..."

The only other sounds were the snapping of the rider's voluminous cape in the wind and the steady drumbeat of the horse's metal hooves on the hard-packed earth beneath them.

"Jeez, what am I _saying--_ ?" The entity, a parasitic resident in the rider's left hand --and the owner of the voice-- gave a disgusted snort under its breath. "Forgot who I was talking to for a minute, there.You wouldn't know what a conversation was if one came up and bit you on the ass."

The rider ignored the slur, though his mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. In D's palm, the parasite's demonic-looking face brightened as it sensed his annoyance. It grinned smugly to itself.

"All I'm saying is... I _know_ the job's important. And there's a lot of money in it, which is always good. But if you get yourself toasted by heat syndrome, _again,_" Left Hand went on, undaunted by D's growing displeasure and disgusted by his stubbornness, "none of that's going to do anyone, least of all me, any good. Okay? So, let's find a nice shady spot where you can rest for the day."

It paused long enough to utilize D's senses and have a look around at the desiccated landscape. "Hmm. Not really overstocked with trees in these parts, are they? Well, you can always bury yourself. Just until sundown, then you can--"

"Quiet."

"He speaks!" Left Hand snickered. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten how."

D clenched his hand on the reins of his cyborg mount, effectively silencing Left Hand with a mouthful of leather. Muffled protests greeted this ill-treatment and, eventually, D relented. He relaxed his hand, allowing the entity to resume speaking.

"_Ppth_. Do you have any idea how bad that tastes?" Left Hand grumbled, though not _too_ loudly. It didn't want to be silenced again. Of course, eventually it would be unable to resist pushing D too far and D would shut it up by the most expedient means. Until that time, however, the creature would make the most of airing its many opinions.

Left Hand opened its mouth to do just that, when something on the road ahead distracted it. "Hey... What's that?"

'That' was a woman, trudging alone down the center of the narrow dirt road. Hearing the horse's approach, she moved to one side. They galloped past without slowing.

"You could've offered her a ride," Left Hand said, then answered its own objection. "Of course, that would've slowed us down and she kind of looked like she might be a hunter, too. No need to aid and abet the competition. Not that you haven't done _that_ before..."

It continued in a similar vein for some time, as D urged his mount on to greater speed and ignored his companion's irritating monologue. At the moment, there were far more important things on his mind than Left Hand.

Things like vampires.

Word had come through the usual channels that a vampire hunter was urgently needed in the isolated township of Basker's Field. Over the course of several weeks, a vampire had kidnapped a number of local children, including the mayor's own son. Some of the victims had since been found, their small bodies unceremoniously dumped on the outskirts of town. All the bodies had been drained of blood.

After the first child had turned up on its parents' doorstep as a mindless, bloodthirsty zombie, the remaining corpses had hastily been burned.

The summons offered no explanation as to why the town had not sought a hunter's services after the first disappearance. D suspected it was because the earlier victims had been the children of poorer families.

Once it became apparent, with the taking of the mayor's son, that the wealthier families could also fall victim to the predator in their midst, then and only then had the townspeople sought outside help. Now, they were offering a substantial reward for the destruction of the vampire. D had responded immediately, gathering a few necessary supplies and riding at once for Basker's Field.

Despite the parasite's repeated warnings about the dangers of sun exposure, D rode without stopping to rest. He had no time for such petty concerns as his own comfort. Though he was forced to admit, if only to himself, that he would have preferred it had the town been situated in a cooler, less sunny climate. Still, he would not let anything slow him down, not even the threatening orb of the summer sun riding high overhead.

There was no time to spare. Lives depended on it; even a single wasted second could mean he might arrive too late and yet another child would be forfeit. And that was something he did not want to contemplate. He focused instead on the task at hand, and rode as if his own life depended on it.

He had a job to do.


	3. Hannah Foster

(3)

_"Let the spirits help you. And they will help you-but you have to have faith."  
_Abe Conklin

In a darkness lit only sporadically by the occasional street lamp or light spilling from random windows in the buildings along the arid streets, Hannah made her way into the town of Basker's Field. So far, she was less than impressed. She shrugged philosophically. It wasn't as if she was planning on sticking around any longer than necessary.

Her progress along the main thoroughfare, a depressingly provincial-looking street lined with decrepit buildings and even more decrepit-looking people, drew suspicious glances from those passers-by brave, or foolhardy, enough to be out after sunset with a known vampire in the vicinity.

The crow flew ahead, and eventually led her into an even more run-down part of town. Here, there were more people on the streets-young men, mostly, dressed in battered leather or oddly out of place finery. They carried themselves with the unthinking arrogance of the young, though even they hurried between buildings rather than loitering on the street corners. Hannah ignored them and followed the crow down a twisting alley to a building that looked as if it might have been there since before the Great War. Sputtering red neon glowed fitfully above the door, proclaiming that this local night spot was the Pit. It was a fitting name, as she quickly discovered.

She stepped inside and was almost knocked back by a virtual wall of sound and smell. In the back of the room, a live band thrashed its way through what was probably meant to be a song. Patrons gyrated in wild dances near the stage or clustered around the small round tables with their food and drink. Competing with the noise from the band, myriad voices rose and fell, merging in a dull roar of conversation.

Worse than the noise, or the stifling heat, was the smell. Hannah wrinkled her nose at the stench. The scent of smoke, unwashed bodies, and human sweat mingled unpleasantly with that of overcooked meat and spilled alcohol. There were other, even more noxious, odors in the mix, things she preferred not to put a name to. A greasy haze of smoke hung over everything, stinging her eyes and making the garish neon lights decorating the walls seem even more surreal. Hannah pushed her way through the crowd of revelers until she was standing at the bar.

The woman behind the scarred counter shot one look at her and scowled. "Oh, great. Another one."

Hannah felt one eyebrow rise. In a deliberately soft voice, she asked, "'Another' _what_, exactly?"

The bartender wasn't stupid. She caught the implied threat in that dangerously understated tone; Hannah could see it in the sudden, nervous shiftiness in the other woman's eyes.

"No offense, Hunter. You _are_ a bounty hunter, right? The mayor sent for one..."

"You said 'another one'," Hannah reminded her, leaning into the bar and holding the bartender's gaze with her own. The bartender flinched. "How many?"

"Just one other," the other woman blurted, turning to point across the room. "Over there, the tall man in the black cape and hat."

Looking, Hannah spotted the rider who had passed her on the road. He was seated at a secluded table in the corner of the room and, despite the crowded conditions, there was a circle of empty space all around him, as if even the drunkest customers were giving him a wide berth. Seated across from the hunter was a smaller man whose rat-like features and furtive eyes were at odds with his carefully coiffed hair and expensive clothing. Gold rings set with precious stones gleamed on his fingers as he waved his hands to emphasize a point. The hunter, to judge by his utter lack of expression, was no more impressed by the little man's posturing than she was.

_Great,_ she thought sourly. _A vampire hunter. _Just what she didn't need

She would have to make sure he didn't interfere with her plans, such as they were. The last thing she needed was this guy butting in and getting the kid killed because he was only interested in collecting his bounty.

With a disgusted frown, Hannah turned back to the bartender. "What's going on? Why does the mayor need a vampire hunter?"

The bartender's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Who wants to know?"

_"I _do." Hannah was nearly out of patience and she hadn't been here five minutes. She could feel the dark spirit moving within her, urging her to let it out to play. One hand curled into a fist, the nails beginning to blacken...

_Not yet,_ she whispered silently to the other presense in her mind, struggling to contain her growing anger. _Soon_.

Reluctantly, the Crow subsided. But it was even less patient than she, and some of its twisted anticipation must have shone in Hannah's eyes, because the woman behind the bar shrank back, eyes wide with fear.

"Look, it's not like it's a big secret or nothing," the woman said, the words spilling out in her sudden haste to tell everything she knew. "There's a castle, up in the mountains. Abandoned for years, so nobody thought nothing of it, but suddenly there's a Noble living there again and the babies started disappearing..."

_"Babies."_ The plural left a bad taste in her mouth. "How many?"

"Who knows? Mostly gypsy whelps, and plenty more where they came from." She spat. "Then the decent folks' children started to disappear, including the mayor's. And _then_..."

The bartender's voice faded out, her eyes glazing as she gazed into an apparently unpleasant memory. Hannah fought the urge to wrap her fingers around the slattern's throat and squeeze until something popped. It would be counterproductive, but oh, so satisfying. She settled for offering the woman a razor-thin smile that managed to convey the threat quite nicely, and prompted, _"_And_ then?"_

The bartender quailed. "The...the zombies appeared."

For the first time, there was actual emotion in her recitation, though it was obvious her only real concern was for herself. She shuddered. "They might've been little kids before, but once they Changed... Damn things got into town, killed two people before they was stopped. Don't want to see no more of 'em, believe me."

She fell silent, focused inward, as if reliving the memory. She shivered again, and hugged herself, then glowered at Hannah through slitted eyelids. "You buyin' anything, Hunter, or you just gonna stand there gapin' at me, all night?"

"I've had my fill," Hannah said, not bothering to hide her disgust. She turned away from the bar just in time to see the vampire hunter stride away from his table, leaving an unhappy looking townsman behind. Silently, she followed the tall hunter back out into the night.

There should have been no sound to betray her presence-- after all, she didn't have to breathe and, despite her heavy boots, her steps were cat-quiet on the wooden sidewalk. But when they hit the dirt street, he suddenly spun on her, his sword clearing its scabbard so quickly she didn't even see him draw it. Reacting on instinct, she fell back a long step, her hands coming up to catch the blade before it could take off her head.

Theoretically, she was impossible to kill as long as her psychopomp was unharmed. It wasn't a theory she felt particularly willing to put to the test, tonight.

Fortunately, she didn't have to. She caught the blade between her palms, just as the hunter seemed to change his mind and stop the sword's sweep on his own. She felt the tip of the blade bite into her throat, felt a cold trickle of dead blood caress her skin. They stared at one another across the length of the sword, then he lowered his weapon and stepped back.

His blue eyes narrowed minutely as he watched the small wound on her throat heal itself within seconds.

"Do you try to kill _everyone_ you meet or am I special?" She didn't try to hide the mockery in her voice.

Someone snickered.

They were alone on the dark street. The noise hadn't come from the bounty hunter, though it had seemed to come from his vicinity. Judging by his stony expression, he wasn't even slightly amused. She had a feeling laughter was an alien concept to him, anyway. But _someone_ had found her remark entertaining. Someone... or some_thing_.

She peered at the hunter, her curiosity piqued in spite of herself. "What the hell was that?"

"What do you want?" the hunter countered. His deep voice was nearly inflectionless, but there was a wariness lurking beneath the quiet words that didn't escape her notice. Neither did the fact that, although he had lowered his sword, he hadn't put it away.

Still, she had to admire the way he cut right to the point. So to speak. So she ignored the question and got down to business. "You're going after the bounty."

He surprised her by sheathing his sword then and turning away, as if he had suddenly lost interest in her. "I'm going after the children."

Well, _that_ she hadn't expected. The guy had thrown her off-balance --again-- and she didn't like it.

Hannah went after him as he strode toward the black cyborg horse waiting patiently at a nearby hitching post. Despite the rough neighborhood, it didn't look as if anyone had dared disturb the imposing animal. "Where do you think you're going? We aren't through, Hunter!"

He swung easily up into the saddle, then paused to look down at her, his blue eyes cold and distant. He didn't answer, merely clicked his tongue at his mount and rode away at a gallop. Left with unanswered questions and a mouthful of dust, Hannah stared after him.

When the crow landed suddenly on the hitching post beside her, she frowned at it, wondering what the bird had gotten her into this time. Because she had finally gotten a good look under that broad-brimmed hat and Mr. Tall, Pale and Humorless wasn't just some run of the mill vampire hunter.

The crow cawed at her. When it sprang back into the air and glided up the ill-lit street, she followed it, tallying up the facts as she ran.

Start with the height. The vampire hunter had to be seven feet tall if he was an inch, not completely unheard of among humans, especially out here on the Frontier, but unusual enough for her to take notice. Then there was that perfect, pale complexion, which no normal human could hope to possess. The snowy white skin of his hands and face was unblemished, untouched by age or the sun. But the clencher was the glimpse she had gotten of his ears, their elegantly pointed tips peeking through his thick mane of long auburn hair.

Pointed ears and pale skin usually meant one thing: vampire. But she had seen him in the midday sun. So what did that leave? Some kind of mutant or...?

In the years since the Great War, Hannah had seen a lot of strange things, mutants and monsters and things that made Crows seem mundane by comparison. She had witnessed the fall of human civilization and the rise of the vampires. And she had even met a few of the rare beings that were the result of successful vampire and human interbreeding.

Tonight, it seemed, she had met another.

_So,_ she thought, as her path carried her in the crow's wake. _A _dhampir_. And not just _any_ dhampir, but one who hunts vampires for a living and cares more about rescuing children than collecting his bounty. Just what I needed..._

She shook her head. Ten thousand years and still, nothing was ever easy.


	4. D

(4)

_"Leave death to the professionals."  
_Graham Greene (attributed)

The nightclub would not have been D's first, second, or even third choice of a meeting place. The Pit was too loud, too bright, and too full of humans. The heavy scent of their blood surrounded him with every breath, weighing insistently on his heightened senses, threatening to awaken that part of him that D had so long suppressed. But his contact- Ambrose Basker, the mayor's liaison-had insisted, so D found himself enduring the Pit and thinking it aptly named. The man had also insisted on buying D a drink, which sat untouched on the scarred table between them.

Basker, who had introduced himself as the mayor's younger brother, was a fast talker. Unfortunately, he wasn't saying much that D found particularly useful.

"...so we sent for a vampire hunter. My brother has an extensive-and very expensive-security system, so we can't see how anything could've gotten into the manor, but the baby was just _gone_, so it had to have been the vampire and--"

"Has anyone seen the vampire?" D asked finally, his low, emotionless voice easily breaking through the other man's babble and the ambient noise of the crowded nightclub.

Startled out of his recitation, Basker stumbled, as if the question confused him. "W-well, no. I don't think so. But we _know_ it was a vampire, the kids that were dumped were all drained and some of them...came back. You know, as those zombie corpse things."

"How many children were taken?"

"Three," Basker said, his rodent-like face twisting in the first genuine sorrow he had exhibited since D's arrival. "Including my nephew. He's barely a year old."

_Three?_ _That doesn't sound right_... Left Hand's words whispered in D's mind. D ignored the telepathic voice, his attention focused on the man before him. Basker squirmed beneath D's sharp gaze.

"How many bodies were there?"

"Huh? Oh, right. Well, if you count _them_... There were maybe six or seven in all, I guess. A couple more, a couple less. You'd have to ask those filthy squatters on the edge of town exactly how many of their brats are missing. But--"

D rose abruptly. "I will."

"Hey, wait!" Basker leaped to his feet and lunged across the table to grab a handful of D's black cape. Basker's beady eyes gleamed with anger. "We're not done here, Hunter."

D turned cold blue eyes on him and Basker went almost as white as the dhampir, all the color draining from his narrow face. He let go of D's cape so suddenly he fell back into his chair and nearly tipped it over. He grabbed frantically at the table, righting himself and regaining his feet in a clumsy rush. He stretched out a hand, but stopped short of touching the imposing dhampir, again.

"Please, wait..."

It was obvious from his expression that Basker knew he had screwed up. It was equally obvious he hadn't a clue what he had done to incur D's displeasure. Basker swallowed audibly, his prominent Adam's apple bobbing.

"_Please_." Basker wrung his hands, his eyes darting back and forth as he sought desperately for something that would regain D's co-operation. "What...what about your fee?"

Handsome face an expressionless mask, D glanced back at the frantic little man. In a flat voice, he said, "Double it."

"All right, whatever you say!" Basker lowered his eyes, his fingers anxiously twisting the elaborate rings on one hand. He risked a glance up at D, then dug in his coat pocket and held out a leather pouch that bulged with the weight of the coins within: D's retainer, should he take the job. "We'll pay. _Anything_. Just... bring the boy back safely."

D nodded and took the proffered coin purse from the other man's trembling hands. Without another word, D strode from the noisome confines of the Pit and out into the darkness. After the crowded nightclub, even the sun-baked air, oppressive with the lingering heat of the day, was a welcome respite. He breathed deeply, clearing his nose of the too-tempting smell of human blood, and started for his horse.

A warning tingled along his spine. He knew instantly that he was not alone.

_D,_ the parasite said in his mind, _we're being followed_.

"I know," D murmured. "Be quiet."

For once, Left Hand obeyed him without argument. D pretended to be unaware of the presence behind him as he extended his senses. He sniffed the dry air, testing the scent it offered him. Dust, horses, and...something else. Something not human, not vampire, not mutant. Something...unearthly.

Something_ dangerous_.

Faster than any human could hope to counter, he pivoted, one hand on his sword, drawing the long blade as he turned, slashing--at the woman he had passed on the road into town. At the last possible instant, something in her eyes made him pull the sword's strike. In the same instant, she moved, hands flashing up to catch the slender, curving blade between her palms. They froze, the sword suspended between them, its razor sharp tip dimpling the flesh of her throat.

A thin trickle of blood slipped from the puncture, painting a bright red ribbon against her skin and running down the edge of his blade. D pulled the sword back and watched as the wound closed itself, the smear of blood blackening and turning to ash.

She studied him, one eyebrow lifted in faint, sardonic amusement. Her eyes glittered at him from beneath messy, brown bangs. "Do you try to kill _everyone_ you meet, or am I special?"

In the silence that followed, the parasite snickered.

"What the hell was that?" the woman demanded, looking around sharply.

"What do you want?"

Her dark eyes looked him up and down, and found him wanting. "You're going after the bounty."

"I'm going after the children." D sheathed his sword as he turned away, uncertain why he had bothered to answer her. He had no time for distractions. Unfortunately, she didn't take the hint and followed him as he moved toward his patiently waiting horse.

"Where do you think you're going?" she called after him. "We aren't through, Hunter!"

As far as he was concerned, they were. He swung up into the DL-4's saddle and, without even a backward glance, urged his mount into a gallop. In moments, he'd left her – and the Pit -- behind.

"Well, that was fun," Left Hand said, as D rode swiftly toward the edge of town and the Travelers' camp he knew he would find there. As usual, D ignored the parasite's snide comment. Also as usual, that didn't stop it from making more of them.

"If by 'fun' I mean '_not_ fun and a total waste of time, '" Left Hand said, in a voice that was not-quite- sullen. "Why did you let her go, anyway? Even if she's not competition, you know she's going to be trouble. Her kind always are."

"She's a Crow, not a Snake."

"Same tune, different lyrics." Left Hand was silent for all too brief a moment, then added, "That's why you attacked her, wasn't it? You thought she was a Snake."

"I sensed..." D shrugged. He wasn't sure what he had sensed, but it had had the distinct feeling of darkness, of _evil_, about it. The woman herself, however, had not. "I was mistaken."

"_You're_ admitting you were _wrong?_ Do you have a calendar? And a pen?"

D resisted the urge to sigh. There were times when he was sorely tempted to simply slice the parasite off and be done with it. Unfortunately, innate honesty forced him to admit that Left Hand was occasionally useful. It had even saved his life on more than one occasion. So D tolerated the creature, regardless of its annoying, never-ending commentary.

As they rode, Left Hand said, "I hope these people are more open-minded than most of the humans we deal with." He didn't much sound as if he believed that would be the case.

Silently, D agreed. How many times had he been confronted with human prejudice-or with vampire prejudice, for that matter. Truly fitting in nowhere, unwelcome by those on either side of his dual heritage, he was a man apart. Alone.

He pushed aside such self-indulgent thoughts as his horse neared the first of the brightly painted conveyances clustered together to form the Sojourners' small encampment just outside the town's limits. Some of the vehicles were motorized; most sported empty hitches meant for the harness animals whose musky scent reached him on the slight breeze. On the Frontier, relying too heavily on the internal combustion engine wasn't a survival trait. It was a lesson the Sojourners had obviously taken to heart. The mixed assortment of vehicles clustered together beneath the crumbling remains of what had once been a highway overpass. Now, the crumbling concrete and steel served as shelter for the temporary encampment.

Though he could not see any sentries, D had no doubt they lurked in the upper reaches of the ruins. Nor did he doubt that they had already spotted him. His suspicions were confirmed a moment later, as he neared the camp's perimeter, when dogs barked, sounding the alarm. An instant later, he was the focus of intense scrutiny-and several shotguns. Guns at the ready, sentries boiled out of the shadows like warrior ants from a disturbed hill. Several of the men were accompanied by large mastiffs. The dogs, having caught D's inhuman scent, growled menacingly and pulled at their chains. Were the animals not restrained, D had no doubt they would have gone for his throat. They knew a predator when they smelled one and they were already on edge, ready to defend their territory from the intruder in their midst.

Patiently, D sat his horse and made no move to dismount.

One of the men, his fierce expression nearly hidden behind wildly overgrown eyebrows and a bushy salt-and-pepper mustache, stepped forward and demanded, "What do you want here, stranger?"

"I've come about the missing children," D said, his voice and manner quietly commanding.

"A fancy gentleman like yourself?" The spokesman's suspicious gaze slid over D, sharp black eyes taking in every detail of armor, sword, and horse. His eyes narrowed when his scrutiny caught the pale tips of D's ears, the pale hands on the cyborg's reins. He tightened his grip on his rifle. "You're a _dhampir_."

D said nothing. Denial was useless and stating the obvious went against his nature. Instead, he simply waited. He could almost see the gears turning in the man's mind as he considered.

"You are also a hunter, yes?" At D's nod, the other man appeared to come to a decision. Reluctantly, he lowered the gun so that the barrel was pointed -- mostly -- at the ground. "Then come into our camp. We will speak with you."

One of the men next to him started to protest, but the spokesman silenced him with a look. His dark gaze swept around the semi-circle of armed men, seeming to measure each of them in turn. Satisfied by what he saw, the man waved them back to their posts, then turned to D and motioned for him to follow. "Come, Hunter."

D dismounted and, leading his horse, followed the man into the circle of the firelight as the sentries melted into the shadows. Others, men and women drawn by suspicion or curiosity – or both -- soon took their place, so that D had acquired a sizable escort before he had gone far into the encampment.

Here and there, bonfires cast odd, demonic shadows on the faces of the people huddled around them. Cooking fires burned, adding the sharp, acrid aroma of wood smoke and scorching fat to the thick mix of odors in the air. Overhead, strings of brightly colored lights and lanterns connected some of the garishly painted caravans. All around him, D could sense the presence of human heartbeats and the thick scent of blood and burning meat.

Curiosity had never been a major facet of D's personality, but caution had been ingrained into him from an early age. Now, he let his gaze slip easily over his surroundings, calmly taking in the positions of the humans around him, which individuals held weapons (most of them), how many worried or angry faces watched him from the shadows.

His host glanced back at him, the frown still firmly in place on the Sojourner's weather-beaten face. The man gestured toward the large campfire near the center of the cluster.

"Come," he said, the tone of the invitation leaving no room for refusal. "We talk."

Though he did not outwardly hesitate, D took the time to sniff experimentally at the air. The stench of scorching flesh almost choked him and his narrowed eyes focused more closely on one of the many bonfires marking the perimeter of the camp. A shiver of realization stroked its icy claws along his spine. The fires weren't cook fires.

They were pyres.

Atop haphazardly stacked wood and brush, as if the pyres had been hastily constructed from whatever materials were close at hand, human bodies burned.

The Sojourner was watching him expectantly. When D said nothing, it was the human who finally broke the strained silence. "It is the only way."

D nodded. If these were the bodies of vampire victims, it was far too dangerous to leave them intact. Those killed by vampires often returned to prey on the living – as the townspeople had learned to their horror. But... so _many_ fires. "How many dead?"

The stocky human seemed to shrink, collapsing in on himself as he remembered the losses his people had suffered. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head and turned away from the ring of firelight surrounding them. "Too many, Hunter. Far too many."

He gestured to the low camp-stools arranged around the central fire – a fire which held only a black iron cauldron in which something thick and brown, and smelling strongly of garlic and onions, bubbled – and took a seat himself. "Sit, Hunter, and I will tell you what you must know."

Accepting the invitation, D settled himself gracefully, his long cape rustling as he absently brushed it back from his sword arm. He disliked leaving his back open to the night, but his preternatural senses were keen and his sword was at hand. He would simply have to trust Left Hand to watch his back. "When was the first victim taken?"

The Sojourner looked at him sharply, as if the question surprised him. "You mean before the mayor's son?"

D nodded. "One of your tribe was the first."

"Yes, that is so." The man paused to gather his thoughts, absently rubbing the back of one hand across his mouth, then smoothing his moustache with the tips of his fingers. "Irina, my sister -- it was her youngest, and her only son. The boy was taken from his cradle. At first, no one knew what had happened. There were... accusations. Counter-accusations. It was..."

He pulled his gaze back from the memory and focused once more on D. "When the second child disappeared, we began to suspect... But we did not _know_ the true nature of the monster, until three nights ago."

When it seemed the man would not continue, D prompted softly, "Tell me."

Looking far older than he had when the conversation started, the Sojourner clasped his big, rough hands between his bent knees and stared at the ground. In a voice barely audible, he said"Irina had two daughters, twins. Beautiful girls. One of them... was taken by the vampire. The other victims had all been small children, babies. Svetlana was thirteen. We weren't certain."

He drew in a shuddering breath, let it out in a rush. "Until she came back."


End file.
